


Can't You See the Glow

by supernope



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALYSSA, M/M, Mpreg Harry, Riding, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, aaaah that's pretty much it idk, five times fic, this is terrible I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: Four times Harry tries and fails to tell Louis he's pregnant, and the one time he (accidentally) succeeds.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scagnetism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scagnetism/gifts).



> Sooooooo, today is [Alyssa's](http://daintyharru.tumblr.com/) birthday, HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MPREG QUEEN!!! I'm really sorry about this terrible disaster, I wrote it in one day and it's an unbetaed hot mess, but it's the thought that counts, right? I LOVE YOU HAPPY BIRTHDAY I HOPE YOUR DAY IS MARVELOUS AND THAT YOU DON'T HATE THIS TOO MUCH ♥ 
> 
> Alsooooo thank you to Alyssa for always being the Most encouraging writing pal, even when you (pretend) not to know what I'm writing, and a huge thank you to the anon who sent me this adorable idea on tumblr a few weeks ago! As I mentioned, this is unbetaed and was written last night, so any mistakes and glaring "plot" (haha what plot) errors are my own.

  1. **First attempt, week 6**



 

Harry has everything planned out. He’s only been thinking about this for several years - probably since he was about sixteen and got to babysit for his next door neighbor, pregnant with her fourth kid and not quite able to keep up with three children under the age of five. She used to tell Harry about the creative pregnancy announcements she and her friends used to tell their husbands and families, and Harry just ate it up, fascinated and already excited for the future.

Tongue caught between his teeth, Harry crumples a piece of paper and stuffs it into the envelope so that the object inside won’t be so easily discernible, then folds the flap under and sets it gently on the kitchen counter, right underneath the cupboard where the mugs are stored - the first cupboard Louis goes to in the evening after a long day of training. There is still a half hour or so until Louis gets home, so Harry casts one last lingering glance at the envelope, then makes himself shuffle out of the kitchen so he doesn’t fuss and rethink his plan. It’s perfect just the way it is, just the way he has envisioned it for going on six years now, and he just needs to let it happen.

Jittery with nerves and excitement, Harry flops down on the sofa and turns on the telly for a distraction. He smooths a hand down the front of his jumper and stares blindly at the television, not absorbing a single sound or sight. His entire being is hyperfocused on the silent, still front door, just waiting.

“Darling?”

Harry startles, knocking the remote to the floor, and catches sight of his mum just as he straightens back up, remote clutched tightly in his hand. He’s completely forgotten she was in town for a visit after she’d gone upstairs for a lie-down earlier and he’d gotten distracted by thoughts of his Plan. Fuck. Maybe he should - no, the plan will still work, he’ll just have an extra audience member.

“Everything alright, love? You look a bit peaky. Let me make you some tea.”

Harry just nods mutely, clutching the remote tightly in both hands so she won’t be able to see that he’s trembling. Harry’s eyes slip shut as his mum leaves the room and he listens with one ear as she putters around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards and drawers and running the sink.

“Sweetheart, can I toss this old mail?” His mum calls from the kitchen, continuing, “It looks like a Sainsbury circular and a couple of junky letters from your old uni or something.”

Distracted and only half-listening, Harry shrugs and replies, “Sure, Mum, thanks.”

He slumps back against the sofa, tipping his head back, full attention refocused on the front door. Any minute now. Harry barely notices when his mum reenters the room and presses a steaming cuppa into his cold, clammy hands, sips mechanically at her insistence. He’s about to fend off her concerned clucking when a key sounds in the door and all of his senses go on alert. Louis is home.

“Oh, I should have made one for Louis. Let me just go -”

“No,” Harry gasps, stopping her with a hand on her wrist and pulling her onto the sofa beside him. Harry flounders for an excuse when his mum gives him a bewildered look, says lamely, “Lou’s very particular about his tea, you know that.”

“Harry, I’ve been making Louis tea for four years, I think I’ve got it down.”

Harry just shrugs and goes for a different tactic, cuddling into her side and resting his head on her shoulder. Playing it up a little, he mumbles, “Cuddle me, mum. My tummy hurts.”

As expected, Anne melts immediately and wraps Harry up in her arms, careful not to upend the mug still clasped in his hand. Just a moment later, Harry’s breath stops in his throat and his entire body goes rigid when he hears the front door swing open and Louis call, “Hazza? Are you home?”

“In here, darling, Harry’s not feeling very well,” Anne responds before Harry can say a word. He rolls his eyes where he knows she won’t be able to see, then pastes on a smile for Louis as he enters the room. He looks delicious after a long day or training, rumpled and freshly showered and a bit frazzled, but still golden and soft and happy, always happy to see Harry. Nerves are like a live wire in Harry’s tummy, butterflies tilting and twirling madly as he thinks about the surprise he’s left in the kitchen.

“Hello, Anne, how are you, love?” Louis asks, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before falling to his knees in front of Harry and putting his hands on Harry’s thighs. “What’s wrong, babe? Want me to call the doctor?”

Flushed and struggling to disentangle himself from his mum, Harry sits up and shakes his head quickly, insisting, “No, I’m fine, I promise.” Louis doesn’t look convinced, though, so Harry casts about for something, anything he can use as an excuse or a distraction. His eyes land on the half-empty mug of cold tea in his hand and, inspired, he thrusts it at Louis and says, “It’s nothing a good cuppa won’t cure. Would you, Lou?”

Louis eyes Harry suspiciously for a moment, but then nods and takes the cup from him, clambers carefully to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he promises.

Fighting the urge to go after Louis, or at least spy on him from around the door jamb, Harry clasps his hands together and presses them between his knees. He can hear Louis putting the kettle on, riffling through packets of tea, can hear spoons clinking against porcelain, but nothing that sounds like an envelope being pried open.

Louis shuffles back in a few minutes later with three mugs clutched precariously in his hands, but no indication that he’s seen Harry’s gift. Frustrated, Harry tries to come up with a subtle way to fish for whether or not Louis noticed the envelope.

“Er - I think I’d better have some lemon in my tea,” Harry improvises. “For my throat, in case I’m coming down with something. I think I left one on the counter by the tea cupboard, did you see it there, Lou?”

Confused, Louis hands Anne a cuppa, then turns to Harry and says, “No, there was nothing on the counter, babe. Want me to get you some lemon?”

Irritated and impatient, now, Harry pushes himself up off the sofa and leads Louis back into the kitchen. “I’ll help.”

“It’s just a bit of lemon,” Louis laughs, but he follows Harry into the room nonetheless, squawking when Harry unexpectedly stops dead in the center of the room, leaving Louis to bump right into him and slosh some tea over the rims of both of their mugs. “Oh, bollocks,” he mutters, but Harry is too distracted to notice or pay attention as Louis shuffles over to the counter to set the mugs down and clean up.

“Where is it?” He asks, bewildered and a bit panicky, because, sure enough, the counter is completely bare save a few discarded tea bag wrappers. He looks wildly around the room in case his mum moved it, but the envelope is nowhere to be found. A sudden thought hits him like a train and he gasps, “Mum!”

There’s an unmistakeable thread of concern in Louis’ voice when he asks, “Hazza, what’s wrong?”

“She must have tossed it by mistake,” he whispers, tears welling up suddenly in his throat.

He starts for the rubbish bin, ready to sift through it and find the envelope, but Louis grabs his arm before he can pry the top off, says, “Harry, no, it’s just a lemon! I’m sure we have more in the fridge, and if not, I’ll run to Tesco and get you some. Don’t root around in the rubbish, that’s dirty.”

“But -” Harry has to stop, voice cracking. He can’t really put up much of an argument without giving in and blowing the surprise, and this is not how he wants to reveal it to Louis. Resigned to coming up with a plan B, Harry’s shoulders slump and he whispers, “Fine, you’re right. We should have more in the fridge, anyway.”

“Go back and sit down with your mum, babe,” Louis soothes, rubbing Harry’s back. “You do look a bit off, I’ll squeeze you some lemon and be right out for a cuddle and a foot rub.”

Mouth pressed into a firm line so he doesn’t cry, Harry slumps back into the living room and drops back onto the now-empty sofa. His mum must have mistaken the envelope for trash and thrown it out. It’s bound to be filthy and covered in damp tea bags by now, too. Fuck.

Groaning, Harry tips his head against the back of the sofa and tries to come up with another way to surprise Louis - one that can wait until his mum has gone back to Holmes Chapel, so he doesn’t have to worry about her accidentally interfering again. Harry swipes at a few stray tears and stretches out on the sofa, dragging a pillow underneath his head and propping his feet up on the arm rest. If he can’t tell Louis tonight, he supposes he may as well get a good cuddle out of his diversion.

 ;;

  1. **Second attempt, week 7**



 

Harry tugs the sleeves of his oversized jumper down over his palms and reaches into a small box at the foot of his bed. The house is silent around him but for the crinkle of tissue paper, the bedroom cold and and bright with midday winter sunlight. Harry lifts the object nestled in the box and holds it up to the light to study it.

It’s a miniscule version of Louis’ footie kit, complete with the name “Tomlinson” printed across the back in tiny white letters. He’d had it special ordered last week, had paid a pretty penny for expedited production and shipping, but it was worth it. Sighing wistfully, Harry traces a finger over the letters before folding it back up and setting it gently back in the box. He takes a few minutes to arrange the tissue paper artfully, then closes it up and slides the box across the bed to rest right in the middle of Louis’ spot.

Suddenly nervous, even though Louis won’t be home for another hour or so, depending on how long training goes today, Harry wipes his palms on his jeans, then looks around the room for something to distract himself with. He doesn’t want to go out in case Louis gets home early, and he doesn’t want to be downstairs when Louis gets home because he doesn’t want to make Louis suspicious by following him up the stairs to watch him open the box. He’d quite like a bath, but once he gets in, he knows he won’t want to get out so, resigned, Harry settles on his side of the bed and grabs a book off his bedside table. He rolls onto his side so he can see the box, small and plain and unassuming, but exciting and reassuring nonetheless, and flips the book open.

He tries to read, he really does, but after a few minutes, Harry realizes he’s been reading the same sentence over and over, and he drops the book with a groan, checks his watch. It’s only been fifteen minutes since he last checked the time.

Harry flops over onto his back, arms spread dramatically, and stares up at the ceiling for a minute before turning his head to look at the box again. A sudden, overwhelming urge to touch his tummy, to check for any changes or signs takes him, so Harry scrambles up against the pillows, tugs his jumper up to his chest, and unbuttons his jeans. It’s still much too soon for him to be showing in any way, which is quite disappointing, in Harry’s opinion, but he presses both palms to his stomach anyway and whispers, “Hello, little one. The website says you’re the size of a blueberry right now, so I know you can’t hear me... you probably don’t even have ears yet. Actually, the photo on the site was pretty scary, but I know that once you’re done baking, you’ll be the cutest baby in the whole world.” He pauses to swallow around the lump in his throat and rolls onto his side, knees drawn up protectively toward his torso. “You’ve still got thirty-three weeks in there, but I’m really excited to meet you, and I know your papa will be, too. I’m telling him about you today, actually, I can’t wait to see his reaction.”

Harry trails off with a sigh and peers down at his still-flat stomach, watches it rise and fall with each breath he takes. When he lays on his side like this, he can almost pretend that he’s got the tiniest of pooches and it makes his heart thrill. _Soon_ , he thinks. Soon enough. Feeling a bit calmer, Harry picks his book back up and, with one hand still pressed to his stomach, lets the book absorb him.

 

Harry comes awake with a gasp, sitting up so fast his head spins. Disoriented, he peers around the room, trying to figure out why it’s so dark. The curtains are drawn, but it looks like -

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Harry whispers. It’s dark out, way past the time he would expect Louis to come home. His head snaps to Louis’ side of the bed, and, just as he was dreading, the box is gone.

Oh, no, he missed it. He can’t believe Louis didn’t wake him up with his reaction, what if - the color drains from Harry’s face and he wrings his hands in the blankets, suddenly terrified that Louis isn’t excited about this. Maybe he wanted to wait a bit longer, maybe -

A faint cheering noise sounds from downstairs, just barely audible over the pounding of Harry’s heart in his throat, and he swallows down a panicked sob. No use in getting worked up over it until he knows what’s going on, Harry tries to tell himself. It doesn’t work. He stumbles to his feet, down the stairs, and into the living room, seeking Louis out. Louis spots him immediately from his perch on the sofa and his face lights up, arms spreading wide in invitation.

“Good morning, darling! How are you feeling?”

Louis beckons him over, patting the cushion beside him. Bemused, Harry crosses to the couch and sits next to Louis, accepts a kiss and goes willingly when Louis tugs him in against his side. He’s incredibly confused and Louis hasn’t said anything about the box yet, but he doesn’t seem upset, at least, so Harry snuggles into Louis’ side anyway, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and resting his head on his shoulder.

His voice is muffled by the soft jumper Louis is wearing when Harry asks, “Why did you let me sleep?”

There’s a footie match on the telly, American teams by the look of it, but Louis gives Harry his full attention, leaning back a bit so he can see Harry’s face. He lifts the hand not wrapped around Harry’s shoulders so he can smooth Harry’s hair out of his face and drag his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip. “You haven’t been sleeping very well lately, I thought you might need it. You look better today, are you feeling better?”

Harry just shrugs. He’s feeling the same as he has for the past couple of weeks - nauseous and a bit bloated, easily irritated and emotional - but it’s nothing he can’t handle. When Louis doesn’t say anything else, just leans in to press a kiss to his forehead, Harry sucks in a breath and asks, unable to keep the quaver out of his voice, “Er - did you see the package on the bed?”

A grin spreads across Louis’ face and butterflies start up in Harry’s stomach. This is it, he’s going to ask and Harry’s going to give him the good news and they’re going to have brilliant celebratory sex right here on the sofa while Seattle plays Houston in the background. Breath held, Harry waits for Louis to speak, hand clenched into a tight fist around the front of Louis’ jumper.

“Yes, it’s brilliant, absolutely adorable. I wrapped it - sorry, I know it’s not as good as when you do it, but I didn’t want to wake you - and sent it off with the postman about an hour ago. I stuck a few more things in there along with it, like the giraffe onesie you found the other week and some bibs because it seemed weird to just send her the one kit? I didn’t think you would mind.”

Sent it off with the postman - what? Harry’s head is spinning. He doesn’t understand a word Louis is saying and he can’t keep up. Shaking his head, he holds a hand up and says, “Wait, what? You sent - you sent it _where_?”

Louis pauses, a small furrow appearing between his brows, and he says, hesitant, “To Gemma? For Will. That... is who you intended the kit for, isn’t it? If not, I can just ring her and tell her not to open it, that it was a mistake -”

It feels like Harry’s chest is caving in. “No,” he laughs, faint and forced. His own voice sounds like it’s coming from a mile away and he has to stop and draw in a long, slow breath to try and calm himself. Once he feels like he’s got the sudden threat of tears under control, Harry whispers, “No, that’s who it was for. No worries, you’re perfect.”

The concern melts off Louis’ face and he settles back against the sofa, relief evident in his voice when he says, “Oh, good. You had me worried for a minute there.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, settling against Louis’ shoulder again. He’s not going to cry, he is _not_ going to cry. “Sorry.” There are tears welling up in his throat despite the mantra he’s been repeating in his head, though, so he sits up, shaking Louis’ arm off, and mutters, “I’m going to go make some dinner.”

“I already did. There’s chicken in the oven and potatoes boiling on the stove. Babe,” Louis croons, rubbing at the small of his back in a way that has shivers trailing up and down Harry’s spine. “Come have a cuddle. I’ll put on ITV, I think they’re showing Christmas movies already.”

Harry swipes furtively at the tears tracking down his cheeks and allows Louis to draw him back, letting out a watery laugh when Louis shuffles them around so he’s braced between Louis’ legs and leaning back against Louis’ chest.

“This is my favorite,” Harry whispers as Louis wraps his arms around him.

“I know,” Louis whispers back, face buried in Harry’s hair. Harry can already feel himself calming down, soothed by Louis’ presence and his sturdy arms banded across his chest. There’s no sense in staying upset over the kit, and he knows Gemma and her husband will love it, anyway.

As promised, Louis turns the channel to ITV just in time for Arthur Christmas. Sighing, Harry loops his arms over Louis’ and angles himself so he can see the television a bit better. Well, time to come up with a new plan. Again.

 ;;

  1. **Third attempt, week 7**



 

“H, you know you and mum are the only ones who like to play this silly game.”

“Now, Gems, I know _that’s_ not true, I’ve seen the words with friends app on your phone,” Louis chides, wrapping a protective arm around Harry.

A giggle bubbling up in Harry’s chest, he burrows under Louis’ arm and sticks his tongue out at Gemma in triumph.

Gemma rolls her eyes and huffs, “Oh, whatever, I haven’t played that game in who knows how long -”

“No one likes a liar, Gems,” Gemma’s husband sing-songs, winking at Harry and Louis.

The face Gemma makes has Harry in hysterics and he can barely hear her affronted, “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side!” over the sound of his own laughter.

“Babe,” Jeremy laughs, reaching out to tug on her hair, “it’s okay to lose at something every once in a while. Just because your brother has a better vocabulary -”

“He cheats, I _know_ he does, and I’m going to prove it one day,” Gemma mutters, glaring daggers at Harry from across the coffee table.

“Right,” Harry hiccups, straightening up. “I just carry spare scrabble tiles around in my pockets so I can switch them out during games and kick your arse.”

“I’ve suspected as much over the years,” Gemma sniffs, raising her chin in an attempt to look dignified.

Before Harry can retort, Anne waltzes into the room, a tray laden with bottles of wine and five glasses. “Will is sleeping in the office and I have the baby monitor and wine, let’s get started. I’m ready to kick everyone’s arse.”

“Absolutely not,” Gemma responds, starting up a fresh round of competitive arguing.

Grinning, Harry shakes out the contents of the scrabble box and pulls out the makeshift fifth rack he’d rigged up a couple of years ago for family game nights, just so Gemma wouldn’t have any excuses to sit out. He slides the racks across the table and shakes the bag of tiles while everyone gets settled, mixing them up as best he can.

“Okay, who wants wine?” Anne asks, holding the bottle up while everyone draws tiles from the bag. Harry accepts a glass to avoid suspicion, but sets it at the edge of the table so he won’t forget and accidentally take a sip.

“Who’s going first?” Louis asks as he organizes the tiles he’d drawn.

Grinning smugly, Harry straightens up and says, “I think the youngest should go first, seeing as whoever he or she is has been around for less time than everyone else, so is at a disadvantage, vocabulary-wise.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Gemma huffs, “you’re not pulling that one again.” And before anyone can react, she tosses three tiles into the center of the board and spells out C-A-T.

Anne just raises her eyebrows and fishes a pen out of the discarded box. “Alright, five points for Gemma. Dunno how you’re going to follow that one up, Jeremy.”

Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip as the game passes, letting the friendly banter and trash-talk fly over his head in favor of concentrating. He’s got a Plan, and he’s passed on some high-scoring words to try and hoard a few choice letters for his big move. He’s nearly got them, too, all he needs is one more ‘D’ and he’s pretty sure there are at least two left in the bag. He watches Jeremy play “frigate” for 22 points, then adds “hone” onto Jeremy’s ‘E’ and draws three new tiles.

His heart is pounding in his chest as he flips the tiny tiles over in his hand, and he lets out a sharp gasp when he sees a ‘Z’, a ‘P’, and, there right in the center of his palm, the missing ‘D’. He loses track of who’s placed what and how many points everyone is racking up as he skims the board for a good spot to place his word, and there - right near the corner is an open ‘A’.

His hands are trembling when Louis nudges him to go, and he drops a couple of the tiles before he can even get them to the board. Cursing, he picks them back up and tucks them safely in his cupped hand.

“H, you haven’t touched your wine,” Anne points out, but Harry just shrugs it off.

“Too busy,” he mutters, trying to focus on his objective - reach the corner of the board, place the tiles spelling out ‘daddy’, and give Louis a Significant Look. Maybe he’ll take Louis’ hand and place it on his stomach for emphasis, just so he knows it’s not a sex thing.

He’s managed to place all three D’s when an arm stretches across the table, reaching for his glass of wine, and knocks into his elbow.

“Hey!” he gasps, but it’s too late - instead of successfully stealing Harry’s wine glass, Gemma’s hand bumps into the stem and it goes tumbling over, right onto the edge of the game board.

Stunned, Harry freezes, arm still hovering over the board ready to place the ‘Y’ while everyone around him scrambles to stop the wine from spreading. “Oh my god,” he whispers, struggling to process the fact that, for a _third_ time, his announcement plan has been thwarted. “ _Gemma_ , what -”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Harry, I’ll buy you a new board tomorrow as soon as the shops open.”

“It’s fine, Gem, it happens,” Louis insists, “we can play Monopoly tonight instead.” He waves Gemma’s apology off, but Harry just sits back and shakes his head, staring blankly down at the little ‘Y’ in his hand. The laugh that slips out as he tries to wrap his head around what’s just happened is borderline hysterical. _Shit_. He’s running out of ideas.

 ;;

  1. **Fourth attempt, week 8**



 

“What is all this?”

“Hmm?” Harry hums around the finger in his mouth, turning slowly toward the kitchen door. He grins and releases his finger with an exaggerated popping noise, then replies, “Cookies!”

“Yes, love, I can see that, but why is our kitchen covered in enough cookies to feed all of London?”

Eyes bright, Harry watches Louis as he inches across the threshold, eyeing the cookies littering every flat surface. There are snowflake cookies spread across the table, ornament cookies on the counter by the refrigerator, christmas tree cookies near the sink, a fresh batch of gingerbread men cooling near the stove, and two trays of gingersnaps baking in the oven. In lieu of an answer, Harry just sticks another finger inside the bowl of royal frosting he’s been mixing and pops it into his mouth with a shrug.

The frosting is nearly ready, he just needs to separate it into a few bowls so he can dye it different colors. Holiday baking is one of his favorite things to do, and the best part about Christmas baking is that, after all of the fun of baking them, he gets to give his cookies as gifts. It’s double the fun, baking and giving, and Louis the Grinch isn’t going to take that away from him. He’s got extra motivation this year, as well - his newest announcement effort, and it’s a good one. There are two containers of frosting chilling in the fridge, already dyed pale pink and pale blue, just waiting to be piped onto various cookies as a surprise for Louis. As soon as he can get Louis out of the house, that is, perhaps delivering some of the cookies.

He needs to finish them all first, though. Harry waves his free hand toward one of the cupboards and asks, “Lou, could you get me down three bowls, please? I need to dye some of this frosting before I can use it.”

“Harry -” Louis starts, but then he looks around the room once more and, with a resigned sigh, goes to get bowls from the cupboard without another word.

Pleased, Harry murmurs a thank you and presses a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek in exchange for the bowls. Louis takes a few steps back, then leans against the counter to watch as Harry portions out three quarters of the frosting, then adds a couple drops of food dye to the three bowls. Once he’s satisfied with the amount of dye in each, Harry slides two of the bowls along the counter toward Louis with the request, “Stir.”

He mixes up the green frosting himself while Louis does the red and gold, then he begins to spoon the plain white and green frostings into two separate piping bags. “There are two more piping bags right here, babe, could you put the frosting into them for me? I’m going to start decorating some of the cookies. We may be able to deliver some of them tonight in the tins I have drying in the dishwasher, I thought they would make nice Christmas gifts.”

There’s no response for a moment while Louis fills the bags, but then he asks, “We are keeping some of them, aren’t we?”

Harry bites down on his bottom lip to stifle a laugh, but aims a smug look over his shoulder. He knew Louis would appreciate the cookies in the end. “Yes, we’re keeping some of them, you overgrown child. Don’t worry.”

 

It takes the better part of the afternoon for Harry to frost and portion out the cookies. He has Louis arrange festive liners in each of the tins, distracting him for a bit so he can sneak several of each cookie out of the batch and hide them in a cupboard. Once the frosting on the rest of the cookies has dried, they divide them all up and sort them evenly into the different containers. After they’ve all been filled, Harry ties shiny ribbons around each cookie tin and curls the ends to his satisfaction.

“They’re beautiful, babe,” Louis reassures him once they’ve finished, prying the scissors gently out of Harry’s hand so he’ll stop fighting with a stubborn bit of ribbon that just won’t curl, no matter what he does. “I don’t think Liam is going to judge you off your ribbon curling skills.”

Harry pouts a little at the one flat streamer, but Louis doesn’t let him linger. He fits his hands around Harry’s hips and hauls him to his feet. It’s the first time in hours that he’s stood up straight, and Harry groans when the muscles in his back scream in protest. The small of his back aches something fierce, a combination of baking for hours and sore muscles just from his body adjusting to being pregnant, and his fingers are cramped from holding onto the piping bags and scissors for so long.

“Well,” Louis clucks, “that’s what you get for hunching over three hundred cookies all afternoon! Come on, I’ll clean this up later.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at the neat stack of holiday-themed cookie tins.

“To have a cuddle on the couch. It’s time to rest.”

Harry forces his bottom lip out into a pout and mumbles, “I wanted to deliver some of the cookies tonight.”

There’s a pause, and then Louis sighs. “If I deliver the cookies, do you promise to lay on that couch and not move until I get home?”

Harry hesitates, then asks with a sly little smile, “What if I have to have a wee?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “ _Yes_ , you can get up for a wee. And for something to drink. But nothing else, do you hear me? Even if the doorbell rings, just let the postman leave it by the door.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Harry sighs, crossing his fingers behind his back. “Just don’t forget the cards we signed yesterday, the stack is by the door.”

Louis waits until Harry has sat down on the couch and folded his legs up onto the cushion before shuffling out of the room to grab his coat and keys. “I’m not doing all of them tonight,” he calls from the hall. “I’ll do half. No, a third.”

“Deal,” Harry concedes. That should occupy him long enough for Harry to frost the rest of the cookies with the baby colors and arrange them on a pretty plate for his surprise. Louis pokes his head around the door jamb to blow Harry a kiss, and Harry calls after him, “Thank you, I love you!”

He waits, head cocked, until he hears the sound of Louis’ car pulling out of the drive, then hops back up and moves right back into the kitchen, aching back be damned. He has a job to do. He had seen a few cute cookie designs on pinterest that he thinks he can do relatively quickly, so Harry scoops the pastel frosting into piping bags as quickly as he can and pulls the hoarded cookies out of the cupboard, lays them out flat, and gets to work.

Harry frosts the word ‘baby’ in alternating pink and blue on a few of the cookies, pipes ‘daddy’ and ‘papa’ onto a few others, then uses the remaining eight cookies to spell out the word ‘pregnant’. Once they’re all done, he arranges them on a cookie tray with the remainder of the Christmas cookies, then sets the tray in the center of the kitchen table. Blowing out a breath, Harry studies his work. He rearranges a couple of the cookies, then, satisfied, washes his hands and heads back out to the living room.

He’s only just sat down and turned on the telly when he hears Louis’ car pull into the driveway. Harry’s pulse kicks into overdrive, heart pounding so hard he thinks he’s going to be sick. He trains his eyes on the television as the front door opens, jumps a little when Louis strolls in and laughs, “Arthur Christmas again? I didn’t think you liked it that much.”

Harry shrugs, forcedly casual, and tips his head back for a kiss. “I’m relaxing, just like you said.”

“That’s a good lad,” Louis hums, stroking a hand through Harry’s hair.

Eyelids fluttering, preening a little under the undeserved praise, Harry silently asks for another kiss, whispers against Louis’ lips, “How did the deliveries go?”

“Fine, I left most of the tins in their mailboxes. You’ve already got thank you’s from Liam and Niall, though. I expect they’ll be calling you later, I told them to let you rest for now.”

“Louis,” Harry laughs, “I’m not a child who needs a nap!”

Louis sheds his coat, then vaults over the side of the sofa so he can draw Harry into a hug and kiss the top of his head. “No, but you’ve been feeling under the weather for a couple of weeks and I think you should rest! You don’t want to be sick on Christmas.”

“True,” Harry concedes, warmth curling in his chest. He loves this man so _much_. Burrowing into Louis’ side, Harry turns his face into Louis’ chest and mumbles, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible,” Harry challenges, smiling so hard his cheeks are beginning to ache.

Louis hums, then says, “Agree to disagree.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes, just basking in each other and the quiet murmurs from the television. The silence is eventually broken, though, but the sound of Louis’ stomach rumbling.

Harry buries a giggle in Louis’ chest. “Well, that was nice while it lasted.”

“Shut up,” Louis mutters, pinching at Harry’s side. “Smart-arse. What do you want for dinner? I’ll order us something.”

Harry thinks about it for a moment, then settles on, “Pad thai. Extra chicken, extra broccoli. Oh, and egg drop soup with wontons.” Louis lets go of him so he can get up and grab the takeout menu for their favorite Thai restaurant and call in the order. Before he’s even finished dialing, Harry rushes to tack on, “Will you share some dumplings with me?”

“Of course,” Louis murmurs, winking at Harry before speaking into the phone. “Yes, I wanted to place an order for delivery.”

Harry watches as Louis wanders into the kitchen, listens to the soft cadence of his voice as he orders dish after dish for their meal. He tops the whole thing off with an order of rice pudding, then wanders back into the living room a minute later with two cookies stuffed in his mouth.

Harry’s eyes widen as he realizes that Louis has been in the kitchen and has taken cookies off his display. “Lou -” he starts, but he breaks off when he realizes Louis is finishing off what looks like the P and the G. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. Maybe he’ll see the ‘baby’ cookies later and realize what they are...

“These cookies are amazing, babe, I’ve just eaten like eight of them without even realizing.”

Harry’s stomach sinks. He manages a weak thank you, then, too curious to let it play out, he gets up off the sofa and walks into the kitchen to see what’s left of his cookies. He lets out an incredulous laugh at what he finds on the platter. Somehow, Louis has managed to pick off more than half of the announcement cookies. All that’s left on the platter are Christmas cookies, a few ‘baby’ cookies, one ‘papa’ cookie, and the E, A, and T from the word pregnant.

“Babe?” Louis asks from the doorway.

Making a split-second decision, Harry snatches the papa cookie off the platter and shoves it into his mouth before Louis can see it. If the giant ‘pregnant’ didn’t do it, this reveal is not meant to be, and the papa cookie is the most telling of the three. Louis walks up a moment later and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder so he can see the tray. Harry watches as he studies them for a moment, then selects one of the ‘baby’ cookies and starts humming Baby It’s Cold Outside. Harry snorts, unable to help it, and grabs the blue letter ‘T’. They are pretty good.

“What was that letter for?” Louis asks, curious, as he takes a bite out of the baby cookie.

Fishing for an explanation, Harry says, “Spelled Christmas. You ate the rest of the letters.”

“You spelled Christmas with an ‘e’?” Louis teases, and Harry elbows him in the stomach.

“ _Merry_ Christmas. I know how to spell, thanks. I _am_ the scrabble champion.”

Giggling, Louis smooths a hand over Harry’s stomach and rests his palm there, setting butterflies loose and his nerve endings tingling. “True, you’re a spelling champ. No wonder you’re such a good teacher.”

Harry tries to keep the breathiness out of his voice when he laughs, “Lou, I teach year 1. They’re learning how to spell things like fish and blue, not exactly challenging.”

“Hey,” Louis says defensively, squeezing Harry’s sides. “You’re giving them a solid foundation. It’s very important, don’t sell yourself short.”

Fondness bubbles up in Harry’s chest and he turns around in Louis’ grip so he can wrap his arms around Louis’ shoulders. “Hey,” he murmurs, leaning in to rub their noses together. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Louis pretends to think about it for a moment, then shrugs, “You may have mentioned it once or twice, but I forget. You may have to remind me.”

“Too many footballs to the head, yeah?” Harry teases, laughing wildly when Louis jerks him off his feet with a growl and starts to cart him across the kitchen. “Lou, don’t! We have food coming and I’ll vomit all over you. I can’t do this right now, I’m p-”

Just as Harry is about to let it slip, just go for it and tell Louis right then and there, the doorbell rings.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he groans when Louis sets him gently on his feet.

Louis squeezes his hip and says, “Be right back, hold that thought,” then rushes to grab his wallet out of his coat and answer the door.

Shaking his head, Harry walks back into the kitchen to grab plates and forks. Yet another moment ruined. He takes a moment to bang his head against the cupboard door, then shakes it off and grabs two glasses, sets everything down on the kitchen table. Time to devise plan E.

At this rate and with his luck, Louis isn’t going to find out he’s pregnant until he’s gone into labor.

 ;;

  1. **Week 9**



 

Harry arches his back, eyes shut tight as he lowers himself slowly onto Louis' cock. He can feel the play of muscles in Louis' stomach beneath his palms as he braces himself, can hear the long, low breath Louis lets out as he settles himself fully in Louis' lap.

It’s midday, the Saturday before Louis’ birthday and just two days to Christmas, and they’ve not gotten out of bed yet. Harry feels loose and well-rested, more relaxed now that he’s given up on trying to come up with elaborate reveals. He’s just going to wait for Christmas Day and give Louis the replacement pregnancy test he took earlier in the week as one of his gifts. It’s a much simpler plan that can’t possibly go wrong - Harry’s sure of this, has thought it through extensively, just in case.

Humming pleasantly, Harry stretches his arms above him. He feels absolutely glorious like this, seated naked in Louis’ lap with the bright winter sun streaming in through the windows and Louis’ adoring eyes on him. Heat is simmering in his belly and tingling all down his limbs, and he feels like he’s glowing.

“Gorgeous,” Louis murmurs, sliding his hands up and down Harry’s torso.

Pleased, Harry leans over for a kiss, then another one for good measure, whispers, “You’re not so bad, yourself,” as he straightens back up. He just sits there for a few minutes gazing down at Louis, admiring the lean lines of his torso and the beautiful flush to his skin, still tan even in the dead of winter.

“Harry,” Louis eventually huffs, sliding his hands up Harry’s chest to tease his nipples, a reminder Harry that they were sort of in the middle of something.

Laughing, Harry settles his hands on Louis’ stomach again and, digging his nails into Louis’ skin, rolls his hips. “Sorry, you just distracted me. It’s sort of your fault, if you think about it.”

“If you’re looking for an apology,” Louis gasps, tossing his head back and squeezing Harry’s hips, “you’re not going to find one.”

Harry groans at the delicious drag of Louis' cock inside of him as he rocks his hips, pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach at Louis’ moan of appreciation. He teases for a few moments, rolling and twisting and scratching at Louis’ sides, but he can feel the impatience jittering through Louis, can feel the heat building in his own gut, the fire crawling just underneath his skin, spurring him on. Bracing himself, Harry lifts up onto his knees so he can pull nearly all the way off, then sink back down, finally fucking himself on Louis' cock in earnest.

Planting his feet on the mattress, Louis meets him halfway, thrusting up so hard the bed shakes and Harry’s teeth clack together. He feels hands clutch at his hips, stabilizing him, and moans a little too loudly when Louis squeezes, fingertips digging into the softness of his sides hard enough to bruise. He _loves_ this, loves when Louis gets just a little bit rough, loves being able to see those marks on his skin later, a pleasant little reminder of the way he can make Louis lose control.

Harry can feel sweat dripping down his back, the muscles in his thighs burning, pleasure tingling right down to the tips of his toes. “Louis,” he gasps, settling down in his lap again so he can grind against him, working his hips in tight little circles that have Louis’ cock nudging insistently against his spot. “Please,” he moans, pleading.

“I’ve got you, babe,” Louis promises, sitting up so he can close his teeth around one of Harry’s nipples and send a bolt of heat straight to Harry’s cock.

He gasps when Louis wraps a hand around him, working him hard and fast in time with the roll of his hips, and he doesn’t last long - a few pumps of Louis’ hand, the rough pad of his rubbing at the sensitive spot just underneath the head, and he’s arching back, Louis’ name spilling from his mouth as he comes all over Louis’ stomach and chest.

Nearly there himself, Louis switches to Harry’s other nipple, lets go of Harry’s cock so he can grasp both of his hips and hold him steady while he fucks up into him.

“Louis,” Harry moans, wrapping his arms around Louis’ head and holding him against his chest so he won’t stop. He’s on _fire_ , every nerve in his body singing Louis’ name as his body refuses to come down just yet, and he wants so badly to make Louis come, to drape himself over Louis and lay with him for hours, to never stop kissing him or touching him, to never leave this bed.

Fingers buried in Louis’ hair, Harry clenches down on Louis’ cock and swivels his hips, whispers strings of broken pleas and declarations of love when Louis shudders and comes inside of him with a hoarse shout.

Harry’s heart is pounding in his ears, leaving him light-headed as they just sit there for a few minutes, arms wrapped around each other, chests heaving as they both come down. It isn’t until they go to move, to collapse onto their sides so they can relax, that Louis groans and curses, “Shit, Harry, I forgot a condom, I didn’t even realize -”

Loopy and hazy, too loose and sated and sleepy to consider his words first, Harry pats Louis’ shoulder with a limp hand and slurs, “‘S okay, Lou. Y’can’t knock me up again.”

It takes Harry a drowsy minute to realize that Louis has gone still against him, unresponsive no matter how much Harry squirms and tries to get him to move closer. Confused, he fights to open his eyes, lids so heavy he can barely manage it. Finally, one eye squinted open, Harry catches sight of Louis, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Frowning, he asks, “Lou?”

It takes a second for Louis to respond, and when he does, he rasps, “What - Harry, what did you just say?”

Puzzled, Harry tries to grind his sluggish mind into gear and think back on what he’d just said, but he’s coming up blank. He feels like he’s half asleep, the gears in his post-orgasm brain turning too slowly to work properly. “I... I don’t know,” he replies honestly.

“You - you just said... ‘you can’t knock me up again.’ I don’t - what does that mean?” Louis’ words hit him very suddenly, and it feels like he’s just been doused with ice water, suddenly, jarringly wide awake. Louis’ voice is just barely a whisper when he asks, “Are you...?”

Teeth sunk into his bottom lip, Harry meets Louis’ eyes, then nods very slowly. _Fuck_ , he can’t believe that, after four botched attempts, _he’s_ the one who messed up his final plan.

“ _What!_ ” Louis exclaims, springing up off the mattress. He pushes against Harry’s shoulders, rolling him gently onto his back, then scrambles up so he can sit across Harry’s thighs and rest his palms on Harry’s tummy. He’s sticky and disgusting, covered in drying sweat and what is definitely a smear of come on his hip, but Louis is touching him with such reverence that Harry has never felt more beautiful. “I can’t believe - how long? When did you - Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Slow down,” Harry laughs, covering Louis’ hands with his own and lacing their fingers together. “I only found out like 10 days ago. I’ve been trying to tell you ever since, but.” He wrinkles his nose, pouts, “Everything I’ve tried has gone wrong somehow.”

He explains the four failed attempts, watching Louis as he stares intently at their hands on his stomach, attention never wavering. He looks so shocked, so in awe, so _happy_ , Harry can hardly breathe. He’s about two seconds from crying, and he’s not even entirely sure he can blame it on the baby hormones.

Once he’s finished, Louis looks up at him and says, a wry smile on his face, “You know, you could have just come up to me one day and said, ‘hey, Lou, we’re gonna be dads.’ Pretty simple.”

Harry snorts, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Shaking his head, Louis drops his gaze to Harry’s stomach again, espression gone soft and dreamy. “How far along are you?”

Harry scrunches his nose as he tries to think back to his estimate, eventually settles on, “Nine weeks, I think? I made an appointment for the 27th, we can see the baby and get a due date. Maybe even hear the heartbeat.”

“The heartbeat,” Louis whispers, so soft Harry can barely hear him.

Before he knows what’s happening, Louis is stretching himself out across Harry’s legs and resting his cheek on his hip, mouth right by his stomach. He taps his fingers against Harry’s tummy, then whispers, “Hi, baby. You probably can’t hear me yet, but I’m your Papa. Your daddy just told me you’re in there, I think I’m the happiest guy on the planet right now. We’re going to see you for the first time on Wednesday, I can’t wait to meet you.” He pauses, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat. “I think I’m going to go kiss your daddy and cuddle him now, he needs his rest. Stay warm in there, little one.”

He pats Harry’s stomach very gently, then crawls up the bed and settles on top of Harry again, so they’re nose to nose. Harry blinks up at him, turning his face into Louis’ palm when he cups his cheek and swipes a thumb underneath his eye.

“Why are you crying?”

“Am I?” Harry asks, reaching up to touch his other cheek. “Oh. Sorry, I can’t really seem to control them lately,” he says with a watery laugh.

“As long as they’re happy tears,” Louis whispers, ducking his head to kiss them away.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ neck, squeezing him tight and holding him as close as he can. “Very happy,” he says with a nod, then buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. “The happiest.”

“No you’re not, I am,” Louis counters with a laugh as he cards his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“Not possible,” Harry challenges, biting down on the curve of Louis’ shoulder.

He feels Louis shiver against him and hides his smile against Louis’ chest, a smile that stretches so wide his cheeks ache when Louis replies, voice so soft and full of love it makes Harry’s chest go tight. “Agree to disagree.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this all the way through I am so sorry and also you are wonderful and I love you ♥
> 
> HAPPY BDAY ALYSSA!!! PARTYPOPPER.EMOJI


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